Don't Want to Choose Between Black or Blue
by words end here
Summary: Effy makes a choice, and it's not the obvious one. Cook/Effy/Freddie oneshot, post series three.


**A/N: **Effy Stonem (in the second person) may be the hardest character to write about in existence, for obvious reasons – the girl says about twenty words a season and she's a mystery. But when you do it, it's so satisfying. So this little oneshot revolves around her boys and considers how she's doomed either way in having to choose between Cook and Freds. Enjoy, thanks for reading and reviews are lovely.

**Warning: **Expect all the usual Skins wholesomeness of drugs, alcohol, blatant sex references and swearing.

* * *

**Don't Want to Choose Between Black or Blue**

It's all so strange, you muse over a cigarette. You still get them in pieces, in the same way you always have, when everyone (including yourself – for a fleeting moment) just thought that this, what you have with Freddie would be final, definite. And Cook, for the first time, would be the odd one out.

It's all very predictable, as these cliché 'love' triangles are. You didn't think you'd ever be caught up in one of these things your brother liked to watch, Dawson's river kids or what the fuck ever. Boys are drawn to you, for reasons you don't care enough about to analyse (you come off as needing some sort of saviour, you think, and it was only until Freddie came along that you started to think that maybe you did...do) and you want to simplicity. The fucking. The weird part is; you always knew sex was the bi-product of a relationship, but you had been hoping that the fucking wouldn't produce any lingering side effects. And usually, it doesn't. Usually, Cook would be disposable. Usually, you wouldn't even still be speaking to this boy. But what had started out as a casual, who-the-fuck-cares affair has become friendship. A necessary friendship.

So you're back after the summer with darling ma, who still hasn't apologised enough to win your dad back, and despite the lack of love right now at the nest you're willing to give this thing with Freddie a go. At least your parents have given you some sort of perspective, albeit in a completely messed up manner, but you're not going into this relationship (you've just thought it, and it's still going to be strange hearing it escape you lips – Tony will never let you live it down, you know) with any preconceptions. You love him, yes, but it's not going to be perfect.

Shit, now you're sounding like Cassie or something. And we all know how that ended – even with _your _intervention.

* * *

You'd expected that when you got back, he'd be waiting in his shed for you in a plume of smoke, looking adorable with his angst ridden hair and squint, but surprisingly, about five minutes after you call him he's in your bedroom.

It strikes you how happy you're making him, and how you could have that effect on someone. The only person you've ever considered yourself having that kind of impact on was your brother, because he's the only one that really knows and understands you and he's the only one you give a shit about. But no, somehow it started with Pandora and now you're handing yourself about, splitting yourself in pieces for all of them to share. And ironically, this started when Tony left.

"I've been waiting for you all summer," he begins tentatively, taking your hand, and to your pleasant bewilderment, you don't feel like vomiting over it.

"I've been waiting for _this_," you say, lunging into a deep kiss. It throws him off completely, even when he knows what its like; you've been here before, twice. You're hardly losing your virginity, but all he seems interested in is making everything new again, or something.

"Aren't we going to talk first?" He asks.

"No." You reply. And if he knew you the way you thought he did...does, then he'd know you were never much of a conversationalist anyway.

* * *

You shag twice, and it's great, but it's slow. It's lost all that urgency, but it's still good. Comfortable, even, despite the newly coupled state you've both been in for about two hours since you got back.

He coaxes you into talking, about Emily and Naomi, about Pandora, then JJ sprouts into speech and you just can't help but laugh and you actually make a joke about how you should have picked him over Cook and Freddie. And it's no coincidence that Cook nor Katie come into play. She's still going to be vying for some sort of revenge, well she can take whatever it is she needs.

_You can take anything if you want it enough._ You just can't stop a small smirk at how much weight your words tend to carry. That's the problem with most people these days; they throw words around.

Then some very important words are thrown around;

"I love you." He murmurs.

You know you told him the same thing three months ago in a phone booth, mascara tears reeking of smoke and vodka, and now you're all glued back together again, in your room, in an uncommon state of almost normality and it just won't come out. You won't allow yourself to say the same.

So before he has time to hurt over that small detail, you kiss him again, long and hard and hope it's enough to make him forget.

After it stops, he's just left grinning as you collapse into his arms and ask, "How's Cook been doing then?"

For you, it's innocent. But his body stiffens and not in the way you'd like and he just asks defensively, "You're thinking about Cook?"

You decide not to lie. Not anymore.

"I've been thinking about him all summer. We escaped on a boat together, for Christ's sake. It'd be nice to know that he's still alive. We've talked about JJ."

"Yeah, you haven't fucked JJ. And of course you know Cook's alive, he's Cook, he's always fantastic." It's more than bitter, and you don't know why.

"Listen, we all got what we wanted so why are we –

"Cook's still..."

He rolls out of the bed, gets dressed and runs a hand through his hair before sorting out a spliff to share. A stress smoker, a fun times smoker, he's never not smoking. And it was cute before, back when he was pining for you, but your mother isn't busy fucking your dad's workmates anymore so she's more prone to noticing these things. And you love him, you do, but Freddie is renowned for his shed, not his sharp mind.

"Cook's still what?" You demand, snatching the spliff for yourself. Fuck it, might as well benefit from this while you still can.

He gazes out your window, and he must, you think, hope, feel a certain calm, knowing that he's now the one looking down _with _you, and Cook's on the outside looking in this time around.

"Cook told me he was in love with you, Ef." He says, and it's hurting him.

_That's fucking fantastic, _you think bitterly, considering how to boys can tell each other how much they love you, apparently but they never feel the need to tell _you._

"I couldn't care less," you say to your new boyfriend's evident delight. "It's _you_ I've spent all summer thinking about."

It's not lying, you justify. Because you've been thinking about all of them.

Except it's so very not. Because it's not the pure truth either.

Nothing you do comes in shades of black and white, and you know that's the hardest thing for you and Freddie, because he's in love with you, and that's all he sees.

* * *

Cook just kind of ends up in your house one evening. Actually he doesn't kind of just end up there, he arrives specifically to tell you something, the same thing he told Freddie, of course your mum lets him in without questions and when you tell him you're taking a bath, it doesn't stop him.

"Ain't nothin' I haven't seen before peachy." He says, but it's lost that cheekiness, it's more nostalgic.

He flips down the toilet seat and sits on it, looking at you in a way he never has before. It's disarming.

"I think," He begins, lighting a fag, "I think I should know how things are between you two."

"And whys that Cook..."

"Freddie always knew what was happening with us, didn't he?" He justifies. And you can see where he's coming from. Maybe in a twisted way, he should know. Put him at ease, or whatever.

"I feel sorry for him, the more I watch you both. I mean, Freds proper wanted you and I had you and now well, haven't the roles reversed. Except Freds is going around in a blissful state of being stoned, whether it's off love or skank so I doubt he has the time to be feeling sorry for me." He states, knowing it, but not accepting it. Cook never settles.

He's much smarter, this boy, than anyone thinks.

So there's not much point in feeding him crap, because you were never in love with him (you think, you hope) and you like him, anyway as a friend. He mirrors you in that you both don't really care about consequences. No apologies, no regrets. He mirrors you in that you both reluctantly embraced people that you found yourselves falling for.

He mirrors you in sheer destructiveness, but you've both been quite good children recently, by your standards anyway.

And a lot of it comes down to you, you understand, and you've muddled them both up, given different parts of yourselves to both boys and you just can't have both because if Freddie knew what you were doing now, he'd lose it. He's just a boy, in the end, and he's still frustrated that Cook had you first.

"I love him, Cook." You say simply.

He takes a drag before giving it to you and asks – so calmly – "How is it, love?"

"Not simple, but I'm giving it a go. Nothing's ever perfect." It's hardly a revelation to Cook though.

"It doesn't have to be perfect." He replies, uncharacteristically timid.

"I know." You acknowledge. "I think we both know that, Cook. I mean we went on for months and it was far from perfect."

"But in the end I'm in love with you anyway."

He stands up, looking you straight through your eyes, seeing what exactly it is you are, past the enigma of Effy Stonem. It's would be frightening if it weren't for how well you know him.

"I love you." He admits. It's not an elaborate declaration, he's not jumping into the water and swimming towards you, if anything you've both become more distant since you've been the half of a couple. So maybe in a cheesy metaphorical way, Cook is swimming towards you right now, in this moment.

He's walking out, all dejected, and you can't stop yourself from saying it back.

"I love you too Cook." He turns around in shock, smiling, but then you add, "But not in _that _way, yeah?"

It astounds you briefly, how you've come to be someone who just didn't believe in love, to now believing not only in love, but in varying degrees of it. Fuck these boys. Everyone just ends up fucking each others best friends anyway, apparently.

* * *

_Because I'll break your heart._

You told him at the start, so in hindsight, he really shouldn't be surprised. It's not like you lead him under false pretence, so he can't resent you. Yes, you're with him, you love him in a way that involves spending two straight days in your bed, his arm constantly around your shoulder everywhere because he's so proud to have you on his arm and you actually telling Tony over the phone about this boy, but he doesn't trust you.

You're still Effy Stonem, resident party girl. You didn't promise quite nights in or any of that crap – the thought of being in the house past six just depresses you, and the place is so empty now anyway. The idea of double dating with Naomi and Emily makes you want to laugh and you prefer to stick to drinking, drugs and debauchery. But you've been talking to Panda about it she and she just grins like the fool she is and tells you that Freddie is high on love. You roll your eyes.

You remember the days of shamelessly necking the best looking boy at every party and ending up with Cook at the end of the night, dancing, messy make-up and just generally not giving a shit. There was a certain sense of freedom that came with just being a loner and you enjoyed scandalizing everyone, but now you're invested, and investment brings hurt.

The night everyone's finished up with exams, you persuade Freddie to go along with the group to a good old fashioned rager and he's reluctant, but you're going and Cook's going, so he's dragged along. The more things change...

Cook still won't just _let go. _Doesn't want to, either. Tells you that having you as a friend is better than nothing, and Freddie just doesn't trust either of them enough to give you some alone time to sort things out anyway. So it's no surprise when his grip on your hand is a tad tighter, he kisses you longer in public and your relationship becomes less and less about just _being _and more and more about working.

You've felt it coming for a while now. People who don't learn from their past end up repeating it, and by the end of this party it's Cook's arms you end up in (it's platonic though) because Freddie's arms aren't even there to end up in. He left.

It's all a bit hazy. You remember laughing with Naomi at someone, doped up to high heaven and then you hugged Cook in a random embrace, it was silly and random and then you tried to hug Freddie but he just left.

And this isn't the first time, either. You'd always chase after him, making promises that started and ended with the three words you'd swore you'd never throw around. But being with Freddie, made you throw _I love you _around. He needed that reassurance.

Cook, suspiciously, ends the night alone too. So it would be inexcusable to be lonely alone.

"Just come around to mines, isn't that what we do after these things? Re-hash old memories and get sickeningly nostalgic?" You ask playfully, glimmers of who you used to be shining through.

"You know, Peachy, only you right, could make something so depressing sound so fun."

* * *

"He won't be happy." Cook warns you as you collapse onto your bed.

"He rarely is." You respond bluntly.

Both of you just lie there, sharing a cheap, burning bottle of vodka, until you have to ask the obvious, "How did we get here?"

He props himself up on his elbow so he can look into your eyes. You know you meant that question in the largest sense.

"I did the list, Effy. If you made the game you should have at least stuck by the rules. Just once."

"I couldn't help falling in love with him." You weakly protest.

"Yeah, I get it. I do. Because when I said we were always, I meant it. All of it. I couldn't help that. And you couldn't help wanting to spend tonight with me either babe. You want both of us."

But before he forces you to choose, you choose him, at least for this one night, and you kiss him.

And neither of you protest to that.

* * *

You can only delay the inevitable. You tell Freddie; no lies, remember? He hits Cook spontaneously during College and you've came between the three musketeers once again. You're not sure you ever left.

You find yourself right at the same place you found yourself this time last year, JJ making you choose between Cook and Freddie. It's in the shed, Freddie's eyes are bloodshed and Cook looks as dishevelled as ever, seemingly confident in your decision.

"I want you both to know," you begin, "That I love you both. It sounds ridiculous, I know. But it's true and fucked up."

They look at each other before they look back at you, and they seem somehow offended by how lightly you're taking it this time around.

"JJ told me to choose because everyone needs to move on...and I think the only way to do that is to choose myself. So that's what I'm doing. I'm sorry for fucking your friendship up. I am."

You're trying to emphasise that you love them both, because you do, but Freddie storms up and lets his rage dissolve before he talks.

"I get it Effy, okay? I understand that whatever, he was your first –

"Shut up and let her speak man –

"Shut the fuck up Cook." He shouts, sending a little shiver up your spine. This is so far away from what you wanted this to be. "You ran off with Cook last time for a reason, yeah Ef? So do it again. I won't be chasing after you this time."

The shed door slams and silence envelopes the place.

You think your heart is about to crash and shatter on the floor the same time that Cook's tears do.

He does win. He so very does. Because he got there first and because he is where she wants to be last.


End file.
